


An evening star as bright as dawn

by Sytrys_Cauldron



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Galahd (Final Fantasy XV), Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), I blame Sparklemoose and their amazing fics for this monstrosity, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, slight angst, this is purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sytrys_Cauldron/pseuds/Sytrys_Cauldron
Summary: Vesper is 16 when he remembers everything.Staring at the Daemons in front of him, he speaks, "Ah, Fuck."Or wherein Regis does Not keep it in his pants and Vesper would very much like a refund.





	1. The end (Or is it the beginning?)

**Author's Note:**

> So another story when I should probably put an update to A hunter's mark?? You betcha. Anyway, this is all the result of a binge-read of all of Sparklemoose's fics who I blame completely and utterly for this nonsense. 
> 
> So enjoy this self-indulgent bullshittery as my mind trys to think up new ways to torture my inability to write long chapters and dialogue.

Vesper is 9 when he sets fire to a tree. 

He hadn’t meant to set the tree on fire. It’d just kinda… happened. And he wasn’t too sure what to do about it. 

 

So he did what every child does when he does something that he thinks will get him in trouble. He hides it. 

 

He tells no one and decides to forget about it. Him, Magic? No. He refuses to even think about the possibility. 

 

Well, he does until his mother comes to his room a few nights later. She holds his hands and pulls him into a tender hug. One that makes him feel safe, and she begins to speak. 

 

“Your father was a kind man. Naive, but kind…” 

 

It’s then that Vesper learns of who exactly his father is, and how he too holds the magic so central to the line.

  
Vesper is 9 when he finds out that Regis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis is his father. 

 

Vesper is 9 when his mother asks him if he wants to meet his father. 

 

His father who is in Insomnia, which is so far away from Galahd, as soon as his mother says this, a nervousness creeps into him, it crawls down his throat and into his stomach, and his blood turns to ice in his veins thinking of this.

Vesper is 9 when he says, “No. No, I don’t want to leave Galahd.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vesper is 12 when he has no choice but to leave Galahd.

 

The attack comes in the night. Something rumbles in the distance and everyone dismisses it as thunder. They are not wrong. 

 

A storm crashes into the village as MTs rush in, gunning the fleeing people down. Vesper is 12 and running for his life with his mother,  running into the jungle, praying to Ramuh for safety as they desperately run for safety. 

 

Vesper is 12 when his mother is killed in front of his eyes. 

 

Something in him breaks and he stops, looking at his mother. His fierce, strong, firey, mother’s eyes gloss over in death. Gently, hesitantly he reaches for her hand. There is no pulse. 

 

Vesper is 12 when the storm that is inside him breaks free. He is a wild, feral thing as he tears a path towards his village, towards the people who have killed his mother. He flings lightning from his fingertips and it is though he is the storm that rages across the land. 

  
  


Vesper wakes. Twelve and alone in the ruins of the village he once called home. And he cries.  


	2. The coldness of grief (it burns him)

It’s only when his stomach, crying in hunger, complains loudly of its status that Vesper moves. His body aches in ways he had not thought possible and he struggles to pull himself to his feet. 

 

With red eyes, he takes in the ruins of his home. His feet take him to his home. The home that just mere days ago had been brimming with love and laughter and  **warmth** . 

Stepping through the front door, all Vesper feels is cold.    
  


He feels as though he will never be warm again as he gazes at the photos of his mother. His mother who had warmth in her eyes, and kindness in her smile. Gazing at the cracked frame he gently takes it off the wall. He doesn’t take his eyes off it as he caresses his mother’s face through the frame. A pain tears into his chest and he lets out a small sob as fresh tears drip down his face. 

 

Wiping his face with the back of his hand he ever so gently takes the picture out of the frame, folds it once, twice and gently places it in his pocket. 

 

On autopilot, his feet take him to his room. He pauses for a second, seeing the blankets on the floor, the flashes of panic as his mother had pulled him from his bed with terror in her eyes. He grabs a bag and begins to pack. 

 

There is nothing left for him here. 

 

* * *

 

Vesper is 12 years old and about to take his first few steps into a new world. A world without his mother. Without the gentle, unwavering support of someone who loved him no matter what. 

 

He hesitates, glancing back into the house. 

His eyes catch on the Spear, hung on the living room wall. 

 

When he walks away from the ruins of his village, his hands hold a comforting weight in them.

 

* * *

 

It’s only when he’s just about to pass the threshold of the village and take a step into the jungle that an unfamiliar voice, rife with curiosity calls out, 

 

“Well, what do we have here?”

 

Hands clutching the Spear tightly, Vesper turns. 

In front of him, dressed elaborately and with a fedora upon his head, is a man. 

 

Narrowing silver eyes at him, Vesper moves backwards, Spear held in front of him. 

 

“No one,” he replies. Voice as hard as he can make it. 

 

The man smiles. 

 

It is not like the smiles of his mother. It may have been a nice enough smile, had it reached the man’s eyes. As it is, all the smile does is fill Vesper with a terror that chills him to the bone. The shadows seem to cling to the man and Vesper feels as though they will consume him if he gets too close.

 

The man strolls towards him, casual as can be, and Vesper does not realise he has retreated as far as he has until his back hits a tree. 

 

“Are you here to kill me?” 

 

The man blinks, the surprise on his face clear for just a moment, before the awful smile returns. 

 

“No, little prince, I’m not here to kill you.” 

 

A frown tugs at Vesper’s lips.    
  


“I’m not a prince.”

 

The man leans over him, “But you are, dear boy,” The man leans back, bringing his hand up to Vesper’s face. 

“After all,” the man says, as flames flicker to life in his hand, “I imagine you can do something similar to this?”

 

The storm inside of him wavers, and a force catapults the other man away from him. Turning, Vesper runs. 

 

Thorns scratch at his bare arms and legs, but Vesper doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. ( _ ~~Don'tstophe'llkillyourunRunRUNRUN~~_ )

 

Something about that man terrifies Vesper, makes something inside of him scream in terror.

If Vesper knows one thing about the strange world he’s awoken to, it’s that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the strange man. 

 

He races through the jungle and only stops when he slams into someone’s chest. 

 

“Well now, dear nephew, that was rather rude of you, wasn’t it?” 

 

Stumbling backwards, Vesper looks up at the man. 

  
“Go. Away.” He gets out through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as he scrambles backwards yet again, desperate to get away. 

 

The man grins at him, “But, dear nephew! This is a momentous occasion!” He spreads his arms wide, “After all, it is not everyday one finds that they have more family!” 

 

Vesper glares up at him, tired and weary ( _ ~~Andsososcared~~_ ), “We are Not family.” He practically spits out the words. 

 

The man chuckles, “I’m sure you’ll change your tune soon enough.” 

 

With one last glare, Vesper resolves to ignore the man and storms away into the bush, towards the coast. 

 

* * *

 

It takes Vesper 4 days to make it to the coast. Another 3 to see a settlement in the distance. 

 

The man, Ardyn, as he introduces himself as, doesn’t stop following him for the entire journey. 

 

The first night of the journey Vesper builds a fire pit while the ma - Ardyn watches on in amusement. It’s only as he goes through his pack for his matches that Ardyn speaks up. 

 

“Looking for these?” 

 

Vesper’s head snaps towards him and his eyes narrow. “Give them back.” 

 

“Now, nephew, you don’t really need these,” the grin is back and Vesper shudders despite the humidity. 

 

His magic roils beneath his skin, burning through his veins as he glares at Ardyn. 

 

“You can feel it can’t you?” Ardyn’s expression is lax, “It bubbles beneath your skin, it wants to be used.” 

 

“I don’t want to use it!” 

 

“I’m afraid, dear nephew, you don’t have much of a choice.” 

 

Vesper blinks. 

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Ardyn chuckles, the sound lingering in the swiftly darkening clearing. 

“Your magic wants to be used, nephew, it was made to be used by those like you and I.” 

 

Vesper’s frown returns, “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

 

“Your magic doesn’t want to be caged, and you need to use it, for your own sake, if nothing else.”

 

Ardyn’s voice becomes serious, lacking the almost playful tone Vesper finds he generally speaks with, “It’ll burn you alive if you don’t use it. The power we have isn’t supposed to be limited.” 

 

Vesper turns away, resolving to use two sticks to start the fire.

 

Ardyn grabs his hands, pressing his fingers into his wrists as he drags Vesper towards him, “You can feel it, can’t you? That buzzing beneath your skin, the way it pushes against you,” Ardyn forces Vesper to look him in the eyes, polished silver meeting molten gold, “It will break you if you don’t learn to use it, you'll burn to nothing and take everything around you with you.” 

 

Vesper scowls and breaks eye contact with Ardyn. 

 

“Fine.”

 

* * *

  
  


For all that Vesper has vehemently denied the title that Ardyn has given him, the man does not stop calling him nephew. 

 

Or Prince for that matter. 

 

“Really now, you’re father is the King, which makes you a prince!” Ardyn moves in front of him, blocking his view of the small port city his mother had told him about as they fled their home. 

 

“I don’t want to be a prince.” Vesper is tired, running on fumes and utterly Done with Ardyn’s shit. 

 

Pushing past him, Vesper trudges towards the city. 

 

Once he gets there he can rest, see if he can recognise anyone from his village and go to Lucis. 

Galahd is done for, and Vesper does not intend to be dragged down with it. 

 

Vesper ignores the pinpricks of pain and homesickness in his heart as he moves past the flamboyant man attempting to draw his attention. 

 

It is only when the gate to the city is in view that Ardyn grabs his shoulder, halting his progress. 

 

Vesper prepares himself for some other remark on how he’s a prince and should claim his status in Insomnia or a myriad of other things that Ardyn deems necessary to talk about. But he’s surprised when a bag of Gil is placed in his hands. 

 

“... What…?” 

 

Ardyn’s eyes seem to be laughing at him when he replies, 

“Now, what kind of Uncle would I be, if I left my darling nephew to starve?” 

 

Vesper glares. 

 

Ardyn ignores it. 

 

“Now, don’t spend it all at once now!” 

 

And with that, his self proclaimed, ‘Uncle’ leaves. 

 

And Vesper is left standing in the middle of the road, with a bag of Gil cradled in his hands. 

 

“... the Fuck?” 

 

* * *

 

Getting into the city is easy. 

 

Finding a place to sleep is harder. 

 

“I’m sorry, but we have no rooms available.” The receptionist looks at him, pity in her eyes as he gazes up at her in almost, not-quite desperation. 

 

He turns away and steps back onto the street, tension hangs in the air, and the people refuse to look at each other as they go about their lives. His eyes drift upwards and he takes in the swirling clouds on the horizon. There will be a storm tonight. 

 

* * *

 

3 hours later, Vesper finds himself curled up in an alleyway, his mother’s jacket drawn tightly around himself as rain pelts both him, and the other unfortunate souls who could not find a room. 

 

Water drips down his face, concealing the silent tears that leak from his eyes. 

 

It has been a week since Vesper has felt his mother’s embrace, heard her gentle voice, felt her gentle, but constant love. 

 

He misses her. 

 

The rain continues to fall, and Vesper resigns himself to another sleepless night. 

 

* * *

 

Using some of the Gil Ardyn left him, Vesper buys himself a warm breakfast. It’s a simple Dualhorn meat skewer, but it tastes like home and Vesper fights back tears as he quietly eats it in the small stall. 

 

The owner looks at him and smiles softly, sadness in his eyes, before offering him another one, “On the house.” He says and leaves him to his grief. 

 

He stays for a while after he's finished eating, basking in the warmth of the stall before placing enough Gil for both skewers on the table and taking his leave. 

 

He finds himself outside a small rundown shack, ‘Harbormaster’s office,’ it reads. Knocking on the door before opening it, he steps inside. 

 

The first thing he notices is that it’s warm. The second is the woman seated at the desk in the centre back of the room. The beads in her hair glimmer in the light and her eyes are bright as she looks at him. Stress lines her face as she smiles at him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. He wonders if she knows what will come. 

  
“Hi, how can I help you?” 

 

His voice is soft when he speaks, “Hello.” 

 

“Are there any ships going to Lucis?” 

 

Her face softens and her voice is kind when she speaks, “Yes, there are several who could use a cabin boy heading towards Lucis.” 

 

She stands, striding towards the window, with gentle hands she guides his gaze towards a striking woman. “That there, is Marcella,” ‘Marcella’ has short brown hair, and a scar across her face. She’s dressed in loose clothing, and there are two daggers at her hips. 

 

“She may not look it, but she’s very kind, tell her that Rosa sent you and that you are willing to work for your keep, she’ll be happy to let you off at Galdin Quay.”

 

Vesper nods, and turns to go, before exiting he turns towards Rosa, “Thank you,” is all he says before stepping outside. 

  
  


Marcella is a harsh woman, but Rosa was right. She boots him aboard the ship and puts him to work immediately. 

 

“Chester!” A tall, dark-skinned man comes out of the hold, a put-upon expression on his face, “Teach this brat how to not get himself killed on this ship.” And with that, she leaves him. 

 

Chester looks at him for a solid few seconds before shrugging. “Alright, brat, you got a name?”

 

“Vesper.” 

 

“Right, ok,” The man mutters to himself for a moment before gesturing for Vesper to follow him. 

“The Rosabella is a trade ship, Vesper, so it’s likely we’ll be targeted by Nifleheim forces if they see us,” Chester’s eyes drift to the Spear on his back, “Can you use that thing on your back?” 

 

Vesper remembers the lessons his mother had given him, for all that his mother had wanted him to never have to fight, she hadn’t been a fool. 

 

He nods. 

 

Chester descends into the hold. 

 

Vesper follows. 

 

* * *

 

It’s the night before The Rosabella departs from the small port that he runs into Ardyn again. 

 

“Why, nephew, what a coincidence!” 

 

Vesper glares and contemplates stabbing him with his shiny new dagger. 

 

“Well, that’s not a friendly welcome to your favourite Uncle!” 

 

“You are not my Uncle.” Vesper words are as deadpan as he can make them. He begins to turn, the ship leaves at 5 and he’s quite sure it’s around 2, maybe 3 in the morning. 

 

“Now, wait just a second, dear nephew.” Ardyn grabs him by the shoulder, and it is only through sheer force of will that Vesper doesn’t try to take off his hand. 

 

A window cracks and Ardyn guides him towards the Jungle. 

 

His ‘Uncle’ is unusually silent as they walk out of the city, storm clouds still linger in the area, and the air is thick with anticipation, or is it fear? Perhaps both, he can’t quite tell. 

 

The wind whistles loudly as it whips through his hair, and he glances at his Uncle through the corner of his eye. Thunder claps in the distance, and he can see lightning in the dark sky, illuminating the night sky in great streaks of light, as though the Fulgurian himself is directing them. 

 

“Can you feel it?” 

 

The question startles Vesper, caught up in his thoughts as he is, and he jolts slightly, attention turning back to his Uncle.

 

“Feel what?”   
  


Ardyn chuckles, “The magic in the air, sweet nephew, the Fulgurian awaits you.” 

 

Vesper startles, “Ramuh? But, he’s sleeping… isn’t he? Can’t he only be awakened by…”  _ someone with magic _ .

 

“By someone with magic? Yes, but you forget, you are blessed with the magic of our line.” 

 

Ardyn’s grip tightens on his shoulder, and before he can make a sound, he’s tossed into the Jungle.

 

Ardyn’s chuckles follow him as he falls. 


	3. A goodbye (but why does it not feel like one?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesper meets and ponders a question with Ramuh, who is a cryptic ass.

It is only his reflexes that prevent Vesper from face-planting into the mud that slicks the well-trodden path into the densely-wooded jungle. Teeth bared in a feral snarl he turns to shout at his so-called 'Uncle' for the man-handling, only to see nothing but the brief sparkle of a glistening red. 

His Uncle had disappeared. Scowl still firmly in place, the bastard turns back towards the thick line of trees, obscuring the threats that lurk within. 

But he knows he has to go, even he knows that a call from one of the Astrals is not one to be ignored. Even if he would much prefer that the Fulgurian simply go back to sleep. So hands wrapped around the only weapon he had left, he took a deep breath before stepping forward, towards an unclear call and unsaid challenge.

 

* * *

 

 

The path was coated in mud, and it took more effort than usual to keep himself upright as he journeyed forward. Vesper doesn't know where he is going, but he knows he cannot go back. Not unless he wants the storm that rages above his head to continue, no ship can take off in the howling winds and frothing skies that dominate the small coastal town. The Fulgurian demands his presence. 

Although drenched, and looking more like a drowned cat than anything, Vesper manages his way further into the Jungle. 

Beneath the ever-present howling of the wind, it's eerily quiet in the Jungle, no birds squawking, no animals meandering about. The very air, thick with the taste of ozone seemed to hang in the air, heavy and ever-present.  

Perhaps that was why he was so caught off guard when he spotted it. 

A coeurl stalking amidst the trees, its body lean and sleek and packed with enough muscle to tear him apart if he wasn't careful. Bending down, Vesper released a low breath, crawling along the ground with a deceptive lightness to his body. Slowly, he inched his way towards a tree, what he was planning was risky, and if he couldn't end the fight in a few blows, he knew he'd be the coeurls next meal, something he had no intention of doing. Vesper had survived where most of his village had not, and he would not disgrace his mother by allowing death to take him now.

With ease he climbed a tree, it was old, moss and vines crept up its trunk, providing footholds for him to use to assist his climb. The plan involved trusting himself to maneuver above the lounging apex predator, and, with a bit of luck, avoid detection, something that would be made easier by the loud strong wind that swept through the trees. 

Twirling the spear in his hands once, he sent a prayer to whatever was listening, Astral or otherwise, and with a soundless bound, leapt from the tree. 

The spear struck true, lodging itself in the coeurls back, spraying hot blood onto his face and hands as the creature gave a shriek of pain, arching up and tossing itself to and fro in an attempt to rid itself of the young pre-teen swinging on its back. With strength he did not know he had Vesper dug the spear further in, ignoring the loud screams that echoed around through the jungle. 

A loud scream right in his ear was the only warning he had as the spear, worn down from the constant shaking, shook free of the coeurl, with the resultant shake sending Vesper flying through the air. 

He hit a tree with a heavy 'thud,' the breath leaving him all at once as he slowly slid to the ground. Looking over to its attacker the coeurl bunched its hackles up, a victorious shriek leaving its maw before it pounced towards him, bearing down on him with its 1,770-pound body. 

Scrambling desperately to his feet, the boy lunged for his spear, barely managing to avoid the blow that surely would have struck him dead had he not dodged. 

The reassuring weight of the spear in his hands barely stopped his trembling. There would be no mother to help him. Not when she lay dead, buried with whatever vestiges of childhood he once had. No-one would save him now, it did not matter how old he was, nor how skilled with a weapon. There would be no saviour. 

If he wanted to live now. He would have to save himself. 

Silver-blue eyes narrowed into slits as he slowly settled into himself again, the coeurls yellow eyes doing the same as it snarled at him, blood flowing freely from the wound on its back. Now that he had focused himself, Vesper could see that it was weakening, where before there had been a power hiding under the sleek coat that shone like silver in the flashes of lightning, now that same power was waning, it was still there, but smaller. 

The coeurl seemed to know this too and prowled around the small clearing, waiting for an opportune moment. 

In a moment almost too quick for the eye to follow, Vesper bounded forward, just as the coeurl did the same, both intent on ending the battle as quickly as possible. 

Pain reared into his mind as sharp claws dug into his arms, drawing blood and causing him to let out a small choked gasp of pain. 

But, yet again, his spear had struck true, through its open mouth the head of the spear had gone straight through the roof of its mouth into its brain. 

It was over. 

With shaking arms, Vesper managed to hold the now limp animal off the ground long enough to edge himself out from underneath it before his strength failed him, its body falling to the floor with little more than a dull 'thud.'

The rain continued to pound down upon Vesper as he collapsed, barely shifting himself to lie on his back, the young boy's silvery blue eyes slid shut, surely he deserved some rest after that, right?

 

* * *

 

 

In his dreams, he stands on an island, the sea shimmers and writhes in its vastness, dark and deep with mysteries Vesper could not begin to guess at, in the distance a city can be seen, barely verging on the horizon, hidden by the vast and shimmering night sky, a glittering treasure that sparkles above his head. 

 **"Little Prince, thou have come."**  Ramuh's voice is as powerful as he had imagined when he thought of the guardian and protector of Galahd. The very air seems to ebb and flow to his bidding, the power he has simply is, and Vesper cannot describe exactly what it is that makes his voice like it. 

"Fulgurian, you called for me, and I have come, what can a child of these lands do for you?" For all Ramuh is regarded as the patron of their lands, he has slept for so long, and much has changed for both the Astral and the mortals that live on Galahd. Who knows how he is supposed to greet the old man.

 **"The Storm has come, Little Prince, which path will thou take?"** With a suddenness that causes his stomach to plummet, he is immersed in the jungle once more, a familiar voice cries his name, "VESPER!" His mother. 

Before he can think, he runs faster than he's ever run before and bursts through the clearing. The same one his mother had died in, the same one that had been painted by her blood. 

There is blood in the clearing, it's arched across the ground, beautiful in its own vile sort of way, but it is not his mother that lies bleeding out on the forest floor, but himself. His dark hair matted to his skull, his own eyes staring, unseeing up to the night sky.

And his mother. Alive, beautifully,  _wonderfully_ , alive. Her dark hair sways behind her as she falls to the ground, her hands reaching towards the him that is not him. "... my baby," Her voice is a balm to a wound that has not stopped bleeding since she has left him, and he drinks in the sight of her as a man trapped in a desert does water. Even in her grief, he misses her. 

"Not my son, please, gods, not my son." Tears spring to his eyes and trail down his cheeks as his lips tremble. He desperately wishes to comfort her, to grab her and tell her he lives. 

But...

"This is a dream." Although his face betrays his sorrow, he is glad that his voice does not waver, despite the trembling of his hands and the tears that stream down his face. 

**"A dream... yes, perhaps, but just because it is a dream, does not mean it is not real."**

The old man's voice is the same, he is tranquil, an observer to the grief that wracks through Vesper. 

 **"A question remains, Child of Lucis, what path doth thou prefer?"**  

 

* * *

 

Vesper wakes to the sun peaking through the leaves, the storm has passed. 

Collecting his spear and with a final glance to the coeurl corpse behind him, he begins to leave. For all he doesn't wish to leave the corpse there, he has not the strength, nor the equipment to properly deal with it, instead, he will leave it to the scavengers that populate the jungle. 

Hours later, when he gazes back at the Island that is his home, he will ponder the question that the Fulgurian posed. He will think on what he would give to have his mother among the living, what he would sacrifice, for his own selfish desires, but for now, he is tired and aching and answering a question asked by an Astral is not what is on his mind. 

Trekking out of the Jungle, Vesper slowly begins to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been a while, sorry.  
> I got distracted with school and papers and such, anyway here's a new chapter, the fight scene was probably one of the hardest things I've written so far for any of my stories, published and otherwise.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, if you did, please leave a review down in the comments section and, as always have a delightful day!


End file.
